


I Am The (Death) Commander

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: F/F, LOTS of violence, Mild Angst, Religious Beliefs, and also vigilantes done dealing with racism, clarke is a necromancer, sacrifice and other practices, superhero au, the trikru are indigenous peoples, they all have powers, they are misunderstood, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin becomes the Commander of Death at the ripe age of 17.</p><p>Lexa has been Pakstoka for as long as she can remember.</p><p>Clarke calls her The Wolf. She calls Clarke Wanheda.</p><p>(otherwise known as the big gay superhero AU nobody actually asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Clarke Griffin was only 17 years old when she took her first life. She was scared, alone and confused and she honestly hadn't meant to. However, when you're faced with the choice to either fight or die, there was not much that you could do. She didn't want to kill the other girl, she really didn't. All she had wanted to do was maybe knock her out long enough to get away. The girl was stronger than Clarke, and she was merciless. Her own thirst for Clarke's life awoke something inside of Clarke. A thrumming inside of her blood that said 'If you don't kill her, you will perish. So, you will kill her and you will enjoy it'.

Now, let's backtrack to where this whole shitstorm exploded in the first place. Clarke and her mother Abbey had just moved into the large city of Weather, Nevada. The town used to be a reserve for Indigenous peoples, specifically the Trikru clan. Clarke and Abbey had not know this, nor did they know that bitter members of the Trikru clan did in fact still live scattered across the land, and had a burning hatred for new additions to what they still considered their land. Now, Clarke understood why they would be upset by the whole ordeal. The racism and injustices that they faced everyday must have been practically unbearable. However, kidnapping and attempted murder were taking it a bit too far.

Which was what exactly had happened to Clarke. One minute she was smiling, and having a friendly exchange with a girl around her age. The next she was waking up in a circle of stones, blood, and animal bones with the girl from before, now introducing herself as Costia Trikru. "My name is Costia Trikru, but they call me Wanheda. The Commander of Death. Today, I shall be implementing yours. You were doomed the moment that you stepped foot onto our land."

Clarke tried to open her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. There was no gag, no nothing to hold back her voice and yet. There was something. And then suddenly Clarke was hurled across the circle, landing flat on her back with Costia Trikru staring down at her from above. "You whites take everything from us. First our family and our land and then our rights. Well, now we are taking something from you. Your life, princess." She said. She rested her foot on Clarke's chest, pressing down hard and insistently. Clarke gasped for air, but found she could do nothing but flounder and claw up at the one they called Wanheda. 

Costia was chanting, a noise low and deadly in the back of her throat. Her eyes were white, rolled up into the back of her head as black tendrils curled around her fingers. Yet still, as the life was slowly being sucked out of Clarke, she still felt sympathy for this girl. It made her heart ache that a girl who could be no older than she was so trained in the art of killing, so faced with prejudice and hatred and social injustices that she was ready to murder another human being to get her point across.

Yet, despite all of the sympathy that she felt for the girl, something inside her was bubbling over as her life was drained away...it was something dangerous, and primal. Something snapped, and she was the one on top, Costia pushed into the ground, her head bashed in by one of the stones she had arranged so effortlessly. 

Clarke's eyes began to glow and tendrils of black formed around her hands. She wondered, confused and desperate, what the hell was going on? Shadows looked over her and voices grew closer. 

closerclosercloserclosercloser.too close.

Clarke shrieked as the tendrils shot out from her body, their shadowy and vice-like grip knocking all of the other Trikru members out of the way.

"I'm...I'm a monster..." Clarke gulped out between sobs. Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder and these words were whispered into her ear: "No. You are Wanheda."


	2. Leksa Kom Trikru

For as long as she could remember, Lexsa Trikru’s World was black-and-white. Not literally, but figuratively, you see. There was good and evil, dark and light, but never anything between. There were the white people who had taken their land, their rights, their resources and their lives. Then, there were themselves, the Trikru. The ones Who had for the longest time thought for justice with peace and nonviolence. The ones that took care of their own. These things in Leksa’s life were cold hard facts, universal truths for her.

Other truths included that her mother and brothers ideals were righteous, and they wanted what was best for the people rather than themselves. What was best for Leksa. Then, her best friend and the love of her life, Costia. She was always there for Lexsa and had been for as long as Leksa could remember. She supported Leksa as she was groomed to become Anya’s (her mother) successor. The next commander of the Trikru. Then, there was of course, Anya. She was a diplomatic, nonviolent leader with a resolve of steel and a heart of gold. As Leksa’s mother, she was extremely accepting of Leksa’s sexuality and went out of her way to make her daughter feel comfortable. She couldn’t have asked for a better mother. Lastly, there was Indra, Anya’s best friend and practically sister. Her views were much different, and a lot more aggressive than Anya’s. She was bitter and spiteful because of the rotten things that had been to her people, where Anya was more peaceful and willing to grow in order to protect her people. Despite Indra’s flaws, however, she was still a good person. 

For as long as Anya was alive and in charge of the Trikru, Leksa knew that her life would be in no danger of sudden or immediate change. That’s why, when Anya was killed in an unjust moment of police brutality, Leksa knew that things would never, COULD never, be the same.

It first started with Leksa herself. With her mother and mentor gone, she felt she had no one to turn to. She was lost and extremely depressed, with no way to express her own emotions and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Leksa was becoming a shell of the lively, caring girl she had once been.

Due to her current state of mind, Leksa became very vulnerable, especially politically. That’s why Indra took advantage of the situation immediately. Now that Leksa was the commander, Indra strung her up and used her as a puppet. Anya’s nonviolent morals were thrown into the dust and the Trikru’s protests became increasingly risky and hateful.

On top of all of this, something within Costia had changed, and not for the best. There was something dark residing within her heart, and it was slowly but surely taking control. Leksa soon learned the truth behind this. Costia had been given a gift by the gods. The gift of ‘Wanheda’. Although, Leksa thought it to be more of a curse if anything.

Leksa broke it off with Costia, no longer able to handle the bloodthirst and hatred that came along with Wanheda’s powers. On top of that, Leksa had also begun to develop her own special abilities. Her senses were impeccable, and her strength was matched by no other human being on earth.

Once Indra caught wind of this development, she was quick to teach Leksa in the ways of the gifted, as she called them. Indra herself was called Wamplei, which was trigedasleng for death itself. Lincoln was Chil Au, the calm one. He held power over the greatest bodies of water. Then, of course, there was Wanheda. Leksa could no longer bear saying her real name. She was no longer Costia...something dark had taken over her, corrupted her beyond saving. 

Indra for one, couldn’t have cared less. After all, she needed someone to follow her reckless and violent ploys without a second thought.

They came to call Leksa ‘Pakstoka’. Wolf. As Leksa adjusted to her newfound powers, she became increasingly less submissive to Indra and her plots. 

The last strike had been a year ago, now that she recalled it. Indra had convinced Wanheda to take a hostage. The hostage being Clarke Griffin, who had just moved in with her mother Abbey Griffin, the new mayor of Weather. She also happened to be the most forgiving and also stunning girls Leksa had ever met. The whole incident lead to the death of Costia, and, Leksa, hoped, the death of Wanheda along with her. The whole idiotic idea had put clarke’s own life on the line, killed a member of the Trikru, and endangered the whole of the Trikru people.

Despite Indra’s manipulative ways, Leksa knew that deep down she was good. She had just let Wamplei take over. However, Leksa knew that with Indra still there, Leksa would never truly lead the Trikru, and steer them in the right direction. So, with a heavy heart, Leksa called upon the gods and stripped Indra of the powers of Wamplei, and sent her on her way.

From there, Leksa decided to integrate her clan further into society. They moved from the outskirts of the city into the bustling streets of Weather. 

Leksa changed the spelling of her name to something more modern, Lexa. She and Indra’s son, Lincoln even moved into an apartment together. Her familial relationship with him still stood strong despite Indra’s actions, thankfully.

Now, fast forwards all the way to the future, and Lexa was staring at her alarm clock ruefully. Her she was, getting ready at 6 am for her first day of...highschool.

“Here goes nothing.” She muttered, preparing herself for the worst.


End file.
